


Wives and Sweethearts

by feroxargentea



Series: World Turned Upside Down sequels [2]
Category: Master and Commander - All Media Types
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-20
Updated: 2011-03-20
Packaged: 2017-10-17 03:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/172523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feroxargentea/pseuds/feroxargentea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sophie and Stephen chat. A little tag in astolat's<i> World Turned Upside Down</i>-verse set about half a dozen years after the end of <i>Moon Under Water</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Wives and Sweethearts

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The World Turned Upside Down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/638697) by [astolat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat/pseuds/astolat). 



> **Disclaimer** : Canonical characters belong to the late Patrick O'Brian and are borrowed with love. _The World Turned Upside Down_ universe belongs to astolat, who generously lets other people play in it.  
>  **Spoilers** : Characters up to _The Commodore_ or so

As the last rays of sunshine faltered, Sophie put aside her embroidery, drew her rocking-chair from the western window towards the fire, and took up her knitting instead. The arrival of Fanny's and young Mr Martin's first child could be greeted by nothing less than a full set of newly-fashioned baby-clothes, a rummage in the clout-press for old garments – those few left intact after the depredations of Peter and little Henry – having turned up more moths than cloth.

Stephen pulled his own chair a little further from the hearth to make space for her and settled a blanket over her knees.

"So, my dear, you must not take cold." He set aside the letter he had been deciphering, and poured her a fresh cup of tea. "Charlotte is a dear child and most affectionate, but I can make little more of her report than I ever could with Jack's tales, all knots and jibs and lee-shores. It would appear, however, that her little boat has taken a notable prize."

Sophie nodded with the complaisance of a mother well acquainted with her child's genius. "Jack says it was quite a coup for any newly-appointed commander, and that with another such plum she might get her step, even with this wretched peace throwing so many officers on shore."

"Wretched, forsooth." Stephen exchanged amused glances with her. "I am grateful, though, for Charlotte's sake and George's, not to say my own, that Jack has influence enough to keep us afloat. Better to have the children manning revenue-cutters, even, than serving in the militia, that vicious cockle-brained murderous set of ninnyhammers."

Sophie cast hastily around for another subject; the previous evening Jack and Stephen had argued yet again and vehemently over the Corn Laws and the Peterloo massacre, matters that she understood only dimly. The house was peaceful now, with Diana and Jack gone to Petersfield for the horse-market and the children put to bed. Little Henry had had to be comforted after his shins had been barked by an over-enthusiastic swing of Peter's cricket-bat, whilst Peter himself had been no less distressed by his accidental felling of his foster-brother; these were things of which Sophie had a better grasp, things which could be assuaged by a mother's kiss and the generous application of honeyed crumpets.

"I do hope Diana will be home before it is quite dark, and that dear Jack has persuaded her not to buy that bay mare," she said. "If she would but wait until the Michaelmas rents arrive it would be so much easier."

"Is it short of money you are, Sophie? None of your missish evasions, now, you must tell if ever you are; I have an oversufficiency, or rather Jack has, the vile illiberal law having made my possessions his, but it is all one. I have but to ask him."

"Thank you, Stephen, you are the dearest of fellows, but Diana is not as imprudent as all that, and with the twins gone and Jack already paying George's allowance I have only Brigid, Peter and Henry to keep."

"Well, we shall see about the horse and you shall tell me what you need. Two of those children are not even your own responsibility, _sensu stricto_ , though to be sure I can hardly tell one of the boys from the other, but that one of them calls me 'Papa' and the other 'Uncle Stephen'. And Diana always did have extravagant tastes; I doubt she may have bought the new hunter, whether Boy Blue and little Hen go hungry or no. Fanny, Charlotte, George: so many of your nestlings flown. If it were not for the expected grandchild I might hesitate to suggest taking another from you."

Sophie's face seemed to twitch in the flickering firelight. "Oh, did Brigid speak to you? I knew she might, but I had hoped..."

"She did, she did, and she tells me you think her plan impossible."

"Not impossible, no, but oh dear, do you not see how very unsuitable, how very improper it would be for her to go where she might encounter..." Sophie floundered for a moment, "...any sort of person? Where she might be exposed to the most ungenteel sights? I do not claim the right of a mother to forbid her, of course, but I had hoped you might at least see the impropriety of it."

"It would be out of the ordinary way, no doubt, but she would not be alone on the _Surprise_ , you know," observed Stephen gently. "She would have Jack's protection – no one of sanity would offer the least insult to the Captain's stepdaughter – and my supervision too, whilst she learnt the art of physic, a most useful and noble occupation, even if she may never be admitted to the Royal Colleges nor given a surgeon's warrant of her own; and there is no better way for a man to see the world, to study the natural philosophy of distant lands." He watched Sophie's expression, saw her suppress a sigh, and knew she had been about to point out that Brigid was no man, but that with her natural tactfulness she did not wish to risk drawing attention to Stephen's own gender, a matter on which he had always remained touchy.

"She is very young; not yet thirteen," Sophie ventured.

"And what of that? She is no younger than George and the twins were, no younger than most of Jack's squeakers when first they embark. Sophie, sweetheart, so many professions are blocked to her, when her half-brothers and stepbrother may do as they please, and even her stepsisters; how then should I refuse to help her just because the contagion left her untouched?"

"I do see that, but perhaps you do not quite realise how hard it would be for her to return, when once she steps outside the conventions of polite society. Have you spoken to Jack?"

"I do not suppose he would refuse. At least a fourth part of his crew is female still, and he cannot rightly object to his surgeon's having an assistant of her own gender. You see, I accept it with perfect equanimity when it is to my advantage." He smiled at her, a lopsided grimace that did not quite reach his eyes. "It is true that I have never been constrained to lead the life of a woman born, that I have not felt and cannot appreciate those impediments as you may have, but I am not without insight. You are worried, I make no doubt, that it will be difficult for her to make a suitable match, but not everyone in life is suited to be a country curate's wife and these things are perhaps best left for fate to arrange; there is no more likelihood of happiness or misery in conventional matrimony than any other arrangement, I am persuaded. Surely we of all people must understand that."

Sophie blushed even as she smiled back. The precise details of her arrangement with Diana, once their brief marriage had been dissolved, were rarely alluded to. "Oh, perhaps you are right, and Diana would no doubt call it unfair in me to deny Brigid whatever possibilities you can offer, when she has been so restricted herself."

Stephen wondered how he might ask about Diana's happiness without offence. "She is not much here, I think," he observed lightly.

"She is here more often than Jack ever was. Ah, forgive me, Stephen, that was unfair of me – please forget I said it. It is true that she chafes at any suggestion that she might not do exactly as she pleases, but she returns sooner or later, and often more flush with money than when she left. You may call it foolish in me, but I am glad to see her and do not much care where she has been in the meantime." Sophie spoke rather defiantly, hesitated, and then bit her lower lip in embarrassment.

"I honour you, Sophie, I do indeed, and no doubt you are relieved that you will not have to endure another confinement. To speak truthfully, Jack and I were surprised even by little Hen's birth."

Sophie nodded. "I did remember all you told me after George was born, about..." she blushed more deeply, "...about how to be a good wife to one's husband without bearing children, but somehow I did not quite think that the worst might happen with Diana, even during that time she was male, and it did not seem quite fair to deny her. It may be ungrateful in me, and oh I do not regret Hen, dear child that he is, but to have reached an age at which there is little chance of another – even if Diana had not reverted – is a relief, I must confess."

Stephen saw that she was once more suppressing questions, and gathered his faculties before replying. "It is but natural you should think so, my dear. I too am at a stage of life where conception is unlikely, though in such cases the anatomy reflects more closely the time since contagion than the age of the patient, but as you know well enough I am quite aware of how to be 'a good wife', as you phrase it, without bearing children or indeed being treated in any way as female, which I have not learnt to tolerate, nor do I plan to learn. I tell you this only so that you understand that you need not expect any more foster-children to be foisted on you from Jack and me."

Sophie, her face flaming, pressed his hand gently, and resumed her knitting.

"There, I have said more than enough for you, I see. Let us count our blessings silently, and drink another half-cup." He poured the last of the coffee for himself, and tea for Sophie, and they sat companionably by the dying fire for another half-hour until a muffled crash at the front door heralded the return of Jack and Diana, loud, cheerful, and clearly somewhat the worse for drink. Stephen tutted and Sophie pursed her lips for form's sake, but he saw the tell-tale contraction of the _orbicularis oculi_ muscles around her eyes betokening a hidden smile, though he was not aware that his own expression was equally telling.

"Here they are, safely returned," she said. "You will not repeat any of this, will you, Stephen? We have been gabbing like a pair of old fishwives. But of course I may rely on you."

He raised his coffee-cup to her in a gallant salute. "To old wives."

Sophie snorted in a quite unladylike manner and drained her tea. "To old wives and their sweethearts."

And they rose as one, if somewhat creakily, to help their sweethearts to bed.


End file.
